


Candlelight (The Burn The House Down Remix)

by badacts



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Anniversary, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mediocre Fire Safety, romantic gestures gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 18:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15031070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badacts/pseuds/badacts
Summary: It's their three-year anniversary, and Jeremy's plans go a teeny tiny bit sideways.





	Candlelight (The Burn The House Down Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ToastMalonelll](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ToastMalonelll).
  * Inspired by [Candlelight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13573701) by [ToastMaloneIII](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToastMaloneIII/pseuds/ToastMaloneIII). 



> This is a remix of ToastMalonelll's lovely 'Candlelight' - I possibly bent the rules a little bit to use this fic, but as soon as I read it I KNEW I needed to write this particular scenario as a remix. Hope you like what I've done with the original fic!!
> 
> Minor content warning for fire.

Jean isn’t by nature particularly romantic, but Jeremy is. It’s with this in mind that he pictures getting home on their third anniversary - last year, they’d gone away for the weekend to a Bed-and-Breakfast in the mountains, and Jean would never have thought of that in a million years but he’d unashamedly loved it.

Instead, he’s halfway down the street from their house when he can make out the flashing lights - red, blue, red, blue, and just like that his heart freezes in his chest.

There’s a moment of fragile denial where he thinks it could be the house next door - as if that’s barely any better, with a family of five on one side and elderly Mrs Connelly on the other - before he’s parking in the middle of the road, getting out, and running.

The air smells overwhelmingly of smoke. Jean dodges around the fire engine parked at the curb, nearly colliding with one of his neighbours. Then, the words ripping out his throat, he yells, “Jeremy!”

Behind the fire engine, there’s an ambulance parked up with the rear doors hanging open and a familiar figure perched on the back of it wearing an oxygen mask, with an equally familiar elderly dachshund sitting faithfully at his feet. “Jeremy,  _ merde _ .” 

Jeremy, hearing his name, looks up, recognises Jean - and bursts into tears.

Maggie looks torn between throwing herself at Jean and trying to comfort Jeremy. Jean solves that by crouching at Jeremy’s feet and wrapping him in his arms.

“You must be Jean,” a calm voice says from his left. Jean spares the owner of it a glance, finding an EMT in a fluro jacket standing there with a warm expression on his face. “Jeremy is fine, besides inhaling some smoke. He’s not allowed to that the mask off though.”

At that, Jean stills Jeremy’s fingers where they’re fumbling at said mask, stopping him from pulling it off. Jeremy is crying so hard that he wouldn’t be able to talk anyway - Jean hushes him, tucking him into his chest and stroking his hair.

He’s kind of glad he’s kneeling, not standing, because he thinks his legs would be weak with relief otherwise. He asks the medic, “What happened?”

“You’d have to ask the firefighters to know for sure, but I believe there was a minor fire in your house,” he replies. “It’s all under control and I think most of the damage is cosmetic. As for Jeremy, he spent a bit too long searching for your little lady here.”

He gestures to Maggie, who is pressed up against Jean’s calf. “She’s fine, too. Better than Jeremy - with those legs, she’s low enough to the ground that she avoided breathing in most of the fumes. ”

Jean reaches down and ruffles her silky ears. True to the EMT’s words, she looks as perky as ever, bright-eyed as her tail wags.

Jeremy releases one of the hands clenched in Jean’s shirt, pressing it between them to wipe his face without pulling away from Jean’s embrace. Only then does he lean back a bit, flushed and red-eyed but slightly more composed. Very slightly. His chin wobbles a bit when he meets Jean’s eyes, but he squares it.

Just then, a firefighter, all geared up in sooty yellow besides the helmet, breaks away from the small crowd by the house and makes her way over to them. “Jean Moreau, is it?”

“Yes,” Jean replies, adjusting himself so he’s sitting on the back step of the ambulance beside Jeremy with an arm heavy across his shoulders. 

“I’m Casey with the local brigade. We think everything is under control now,” she tells him. “We’ll wait a little to make sure there are no hotspots that might flare up. Do you have friends or family you could stay with tonight, sir?”

“Yes,” Jean says again. Laila and Alvarez live most of the way across town, but it’s a hell of a lot easier than finding a motel that will let Maggie stay. “What’s the damage?”

“Nothing structural, but your bedroom and the hallway are a mess - you’ll need to get an engineer to double-check everything before you organise builders, and someone from your insurance company too. If you were thinking of doing any remodeling, now’s your chance, because you’re going to lose a few dividing walls in the clean up.” She offers a conciliatory smile, all gentle humour. 

“It’s fine,” Jean replies. “As long as these guys are safe. Do you know what started it?”

She darts a look at Jeremy, just for a second, something complicated in her expression. “A candle was knocked over in the bedroom and caught on the bedsheets. More common than you’d think.”

Jeremy, technically not breaking the rules, pulls the edge of the mask away from his face so he can audibly say, “My fault.”

“It was an accident,” Casey interjects, before Jean can say the same thing. “I mean, I wasn’t there, but when I say ‘more common than you’d think’ I mean ‘ridiculously common’, and just quietly I’m glad it wasn’t another incident of someone trying to cook while drunk.”

Jeremy’s brow wrinkles, but he doesn’t respond. Jean turns to the EMT and says, “Do you need to take him to hospital?”

Jeremy shakes his head violently, which goes largely ignored. The EMT produces a stethoscope and listens to Jeremy’s chest, then looks him over.

“His lungs sounds are okay, and his colour is good which means his sats are probably back on the right level,” he says eventually. “I don’t think he needs to come in if he doesn’t want to, but you’ll need to keep an eye on him for the next day or so. Any persistent coughing, shortness of breath or irritation means you should call an ambulance for him, alright?”

Jean squints at Jeremy. “Maybe you should take him in just in case-”

The head shaking recommences, and Jean gives in. “Okay, alright. So I can take him now? Or do we need to stay?” He addresses that last part to Casey.

“Give me your contact details and you can go,” she says. “Sorry, but I can’t let you in to get any of your things.”

“It’s fine,” Jean tells her, and then scribbles his information on a pad of paper the EMT provides. By the time he’s done Jeremy has been set free of the oxygen mask is on his feet, though red-eyed and a little pallid. 

Jean puts his arm around back around his shoulders and leads him - and Maggie - away.

 

* * *

Laila and Alvarez are up and ready to fuss over Jeremy when the three of them arrive at their place, but instead he retreats directly to their bathroom to shower with barely a greeting. 

Alvarez looks from Maggie to Laila to Jean, and then points after Jeremy. “Should I…?”

“I’ll go in a bit,” Jean tells her. “He needs five minutes.”

“He’s been  _ crying _ .” She sounds horrified, as though Jeremy doesn’t cry over plenty of things - TV ads about deforestation, any scene in a movie with atmospheric rain, and cute dogs, amongst other things.

“He’s allowed. He’s had a crap day,” Laila tells her. 

“It’s our anniversary,” Jean says, and then laughs somewhat humorlessly at their twin horrified expressions. “It’s alright. That’s life, yes?”

He’s been carrying Maggie under his arm like a piece of furry luggage, so he leans down to set her free. She immediately darts for Laila, ignoring her size in favour of trying to take her out at the ankles. Ten years old and she still hasn’t figured out that she’s a small dog, not a great dane.

Jean leaves the three girls together, heading towards the guest bedroom with the duffle from the back of his car over his shoulder. It’s all team clothes and none of it is Jeremy’s size, but Jean had decided on the ride over that it wasn’t worth trying to pick anything else up tonight. He thinks Jeremy’s not much good for anything besides sleeping until tomorrow at this point.

When he opens the door, Jeremy is already there, sitting on the bed and wrapped in a couple of towels. His dirty clothes are on the floor in the corner, and he’s holding something in his hand, staring at it.

He jumps at Jean’s entrance, making an abortive move like he’s going to shield what he’s holding before he stops himself. He looks up at Jean, eyes big and dark and dry but still a little reddened. 

It takes a second for Jean to translate the shape of what Jeremy’s holding into an actual object. He pauses.

“I had it all planned out,” Jeremy says. His voice still sounds rough from the smoke. “Dumb, right?”

“No,” Jean tells him, shifting closer. When he’s in touching distance, he drops the bag and gets down on his knees at Jeremy’s feet, an echo of earlier. “Not at all.”

Jeremy looks a little bemused. “We’re the wrong way around.”

“Well, there’s no rules,” Jean says, pretty sensibly he thinks. “Can I see?”

Jeremy takes a deep breath, blows it out. Then he shoves the black ring box into Jean’s hands. “Well, it’s yours, so yes.”

Jean catches Jeremy’s fingers when they try to flee back into his lap, where he just knows they’ll twist together with nerves, and presses them to his mouth. Then with his other hand he opens the box.

The ring is silver in colour and a simple design, a wide band in a metal Jean doesn’t recognise. Jeremy mutters, “It’s platinum.”

“It’s very beautiful,” Jean tells him, and kisses his hand again. “Did you write a speech?”

“Yeah.” He makes a face. “I’m not that good at talking about this stuff. You know that. And I wanted it to be…” He stops. His lip quivers a little.

“I don’t know,” Jean says, voice quiet. “You always do alright with me. And the answer was going to be the same no matter what you said, honestly.”

He lets go of Jeremy’s hand in favour of curling that arm around his waist instead, stretching up to kiss Jeremy on the mouth, warm and gentle. Then he says, “Put it on me?”

Jeremy’s mouth inverts at last. “Are you going to say yes first?”

“Yes,” Jean says immediately. He gives over his left hand and watches as Jeremy slides the ring onto his finger. It fits well, and suits better. 

“Beautiful,” Jeremy says. He isn’t looking at the ring. Sap.

“Thank you,” Jean replies anyway.

“For what, letting you finally live out your interior design dreams rebuilding our house that I set on fire?” His expression has abruptly turned self-deprecating, and Jean can’t have it.

“No,” Jean replies, pecking him again on the mouth. “For wanting to marry me.”

“Oh,” Jeremy says, impossibly soft. “Thanks for saying yes.”

“Also,” Jean grins a little bit, “For giving us the best engagement story in history.”

If they end up rolling on the floor while Jeremy attempts to get Jean in a headlock instead of rolling on the bed, then it’s probably better they keep their just-engaged sex to their own house. Or a hotel, at least.


End file.
